


Another Way to Dawn

by AltheaShepard



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-01-22 22:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltheaShepard/pseuds/AltheaShepard
Summary: She'd shown them a different path once and asked them to take it. She never told them how to do it, just how it needed to end, how she'd prefer it to end."You've always been a clever bunch,"Yes. Yes they were.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing but the idea for this! Enjoy!

The music starts, low and nearly inaudible with the crowd. They have to work quick, unable to stop and explain. The words are bubbling at his lips and he settles his shoulders, taking a breath and widening his stance just a touch to make it easier to breath. He catches Ignis’s slightly raised brow beside him, the subtle quirk upwards of his father’s lips as he finishes his speech. His own voice is low when he starts, quiet without a mic and he sees Ignis’s confusion grow. It’s almost enough to have him pause to explain at least partially to his oldest friend what he’s doing. Almost. But the words are too strong and he continues, feeling his voice swell higher as the music grows a touch louder. His eyes flicker shut.

“I close my eyes and I can see, a world that’s waiting up for me.   
That I call my own……   
Through the dark, through the door   
Through where no one’s been before but it feels like home. 

They can say, they can say it all sounds crazy  
They can say, They can say I’ve lost my mind  
I don’t care, I don’t care so call me crazy  
We can live in a world that we design….”

The chorus flows from him, the crowd quieting in confusion as he steps forward, around his father. It’s not necessarily a secret that the Prince can sing, having been nettled into singing at a handful of events since starting high school but it also isn’t a well advertised fact. A hand brushes his arm, his father’s fingers warm as they rest between his shoulder blades in silent support. His smile grows as he opens his eyes to look at the crowd, the music louder now. Magic swells in his throat, amplifying his volume to be heard by all those in the crowd. It pulses deep in his chest, slowly down his legs and through his feet into the ground. 

“There’s a house we can build  
Every room inside is filled  
Filled with things from far away.  
Special things I compile  
Each one there to make you smile  
On a rainy day….”

His hands sweep out from behind him, gesturing to the city around them, to the people in front and behind him, upwards to the glowing wall above them. Absently, he notes the barely there pulses of magic along the wall are getting stronger, more frequent, his own magic starting to feed into it. His father’s hand is stronger against his back, stepping up next to him as he finishes the bridge, hands reaching for the sky.

“Every night I lie in bed  
The brightest colors fill my head,  
A million dreams are keeping me awake.  
I think of what the world could be  
A vision of the one I see  
A million dreams is all it’s gonna take  
Oh a million dreams for the world we’re gonna make.”

The crowd is surprised as their King starts singing with his son, voice as strong and sure as his son’s. His smile grows, leaning briefly into his father’s side before taking a step back, their hands catching and holding. Familiar, sturdy magic floods his being, mixing with his own more tempestuous kind, flooding down and up. The wall is pulsing stronger now and he knows the beam flooding magic upwards is bright and steady and growing.

Another voice breaks in, one he’d hoped for and he is elated. She is unseen, across the sea as She is but her presence is felt woven into the tight magic of a single Kingsglaive. Blue eyes find her, giving reassurance as the King waves her forward. Those around her look confused, one almost furious. She looks unsure, frightened and almost angry, but doesn’t try to stop, eventually taking a single slow step forward, arms staying behind her back.

“However big, however small,  
Let me be part of it all.  
Share your dreams with me.  
You may be right, you may be wrong  
But say that you’ll bring me along  
To the world you see  
To the world I close my eyes   
I close my eyes to see….”

Father’s voice threads with her, strong and sure and he matches him, works with them, taking her singular thread of magic and gently weaving it with theirs, the connection giving the Other a chance to pour Her own forward. The Glaive’s shoulders tense but she lets the song finish, lets them pull. Quietly, they finish and the crowd applauds, cheering. The clock is closer to midnight now but they’ve timed this, accounted for hesitation and possible rejection.

Red painted lips press thinly together, the stone at her neck flickering in the dim light in which she stands. Carefully, he offers a smile, squeezing his father’s hand and glancing up, just once. He catches her own glance, reads the shock on her face and can see the minute tension in her jaw. Magic pulses stronger, just once as she takes a breath to start another.

“I’m trying to hold my breath.  
Let it stay this way,  
Can’t let this moment end.

You’ve set off a dream in me  
Getting louder now.  
Can you hear it echoing?”

He offers her a hand.

“Take my hand.  
Will you share this with me?  
‘Cause darling without you….”

She takes the song back, rushing magic into the thread until it’s as strong as a steel rope, voice rising quickly. They understand the meaning behind the verses, understand the doubts she’s telling them. Father and son know them, take them in, let them feed into the wall above which pulses with each swell of her voice. The Other is still there, feeding Her own magic but not singing through the Glaive. This Glaive has her own words to speak, her own concerns and the concerns of her people to share. The Prince knows them, having listened to her before when learning his own magic and teaching her ways to bend hers. 

“All the shine of a thousand spotlights,  
All the stars we steal from the night sky  
Will never be enough.  
Never be enough.

Towers of gold are still too little,  
These hands could hold the world but it’ll  
Never be enough  
Never be enough for me.” 

She’s looking for a promise. A promise of safety, of fulfillment, of purpose. Her hands sweep from her back much like his own but she moves much quicker, fingers curling around the red gem of her necklace, moving up the stairs of the stage set up in front of the Citadel. Their eyes are on her as she stops a few feet away, pushing her meaning into them, begging for an answer. A real answer. Not empty promises. Not reassurances. An actual answer she can give the Glaives, her brothers, later.

Her voice is shaky as she finishes, arms falling to her sides and brows twisting. People are moving around them, Clarus no doubt having a hand on his King’s shoulder to try and get his attention. Ignis is at his back, Gladio beside him, both confused. But father and son do not move, do not remove their gazes from the Glaive that stands there breathing hard, waiting, aching for an answer. Time is closer now. Father squeezes his hand and steps carefully forward, new notes weaving into the magic, bringing a slow building resolve with it.

“I saw the sun begin to dim,  
And felt that winter wind blow cold.  
A man knows who is there for him,  
When the glitter fades and the walls won’t hold.

‘Cause from that rubble, what remains  
Can only be what’s true.   
If all was lost, There’s more I gained  
Cause it led me back...  
To you.”

The eyes he shares with his father pin her in place, his promise there in his words and the hard gaze. He keeps her there as he threads his words into the air, squeezing his son’s hand. Magic is sharp under their feet, building and growing with the notes flowing higher into the air. He lets go as his father does, the man stepping forward quickly to address the confused crowd. There is a promise building in his words, voice rumbling deep in his chest, an answer for the bird named Glaive to take back to her brothers. 

“And from now on  
These eyes will not be blinded by the lights  
From now on  
What's waited 'til tomorrow starts tonight  
It starts tonight  
And let this promise in me start  
Like an anthem in my heart  
From now on”

His father sings of his own failings, sings of his distractions and the ambitions of others for him. His own words wait, just past his teeth, body rocking onto the balls of his feet. Dimly, he’s aware of Ignis and Gladio trying to get his attention, trying to keep him in place. There isn’t time for it though as he spots glittering gold out of the corner of his eye. With a sharp grin at the Glaive, he darts forward, around his friends, grasping her hands quickly and squeezing once in reassurance.

More voices than their own surge forward, light bursting brighter behind them. His hands clap as he joins them, spinning on the stage around the awestruck and absently singing Glaive, around his father, drawing the magic sharper around him, tighter, forcing it into his feet and back up, up through the crystal. The stone on his father’s finger grows brighter with every word sung, each voice adding their own strength higher and higher. The crowd notices what’s behind them now and now, now he knows there is no going back, there is no stopping, this will happen and it will be glorious.

“And we will come back home  
And we will come back home  
Home again!  
And we will come back home  
And we will come back home  
Home again!  
And we will come back home  
And we will come back home  
Home again!”

Building, building, building, rushing, swelling, forming, glowing. Piercing the light is behind them, the wall above nearly solid with magic. Absently he is aware of shapes above the city and he knows their shadows, lifts his hands to them. His father is steady, voice loud and easy. The Glaive is pounding her fist against her chest just below her necklace and the glowing gem, others stomping their feet and mimicking her. There are tears on her face and he briefly wonders if they are hers or from the Other across the sea. Both. Laughter bubbles in him as his father’s hands shoot upward, hand near engulfed in the light of the stone as he shouts “Yes!” 

There is a crackle behind him, a burning under his skin, steel in his bones, steady bedrock under his feet, water crashing through his veins and ice soothing along his neck and scalp. Long fingers tangle in his hair, a soft voice whispering praise in his ear. A snap, a burst of brilliant light that blinds him and he stands alone. His father lies on the ground, Clarus and Cor hovering over him in a panic. Libertus and Nyx are doing the same with an unconscious Crowe. He continues to sing, brushing the last of the spell into the air, whispering the last of the words with the ghosts, chest heaving, body light and numb, lips curled upwards as he stares at the clear sky above him, little pinpoints of light brightening briefly before fading as the magic does.

“From now on  
From now on  
Home again!”

He sinks, eyes closed, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited for clarity (hopefully). Thank you, Shiary, for pointing out the confusion! I hope I've fixed it.


	2. Speculation

New Year New Me. 

It was a phrase that had been circling the net for so long that Prompto had seen about every iteration of it. Before and after photos with colored hair, new gym memberships, new diets. Admittedly, he’d gotten swept up for about a week before his dad had looked at him with a raised eyebrow one night over dinner and asked,

“Why?”

And he stopped, coming to the realization that honestly? It was a silly little trend. A silly trend that he desperately wished would come back with such a vengeance that it’d sweep away the headlines glaring at him from all possible angles. 

New Year No Wall.

The headline had been running since New Year’s two weeks ago with constant speculation on what exactly caused the King to drop the wall so violently that Captain Drautos and a few members of the Council had dropped to the ground, yet to wake even now. Some of the theories were outrageous, calling those felled possible traitors and spies, others genuinely wondering if it was a way to repel the Empire or lure them into a trap and those that dropped were only doing it for the spectacle.The Council, those still up and about, was remaining silent on the subject as were the King’s inner circle. Not hard to do when you honestly have no information to give to people no matter how many different ways they ask.

All they could really say is that the King and the Prince were recovering from the large show of magical might and that the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive were working tirelessly to secure the city and watch for any potential threats to the citizens. It helped stave off the fears from the immigrant population but the natives were getting restless. 

What about the daemons?

What if the Empire uses this chance to take the city?

Who will defend us?

Why is the Council missing members?

Why did the King attack his own?

Perfectly valid concerns, in Prompto’s opinion. Though, in all honesty, it was seeming more like unneeded concerns as information started coming in.

New Year All Clear.

There was nothing. Dad had connections to the Hunters out in the rest of Lucis and from the sound of it daemons, while not completely eradicated, weren’t nearly as strong as they were before. They also weren’t popping up as frequently or staying around as long. Thankfully they weren’t showing up in the city either or anywhere near it. The Empire was also strangely silent, no airships spotted in their airspace at all and intel from the glaives stated that even the temporary bases they had started trying to set up were abandoned, empty MT armors scattered about. 

“It could mean whatever His Majesty and His Highness did caused this but it could also mean something else. What, I’m not sure,”

Dad was skeptical. They were all skeptical, really. No one even knew what had happened on New Year’s Eve, only that Noctis had started to sing (not unusual in private and perhaps appropriate for the occasion) and that His Majesty had joined him. It became odd when Glaive Altius added her own voice to the mix. Prompto wouldn’t be forgetting the angry, almost terrified look on her face, as if the words were forcibly pulled from her throat. With the next song, however, it seemed as if she had changed her mind, pouring out what could be interpreted as a plea for help or an expression of grievances? There had been rumblings of discontent in the Kingsglaive for a while now, Libertus echoing them on occasion when he would meet up with the glaives after training or if he accompanied Noctis to the grounds for his own lessons. That song, when taking into account the attitude of the glaives, was asking for an answer in Prompto’s humble opinion.

And the King had answered. Quietly, at first, but growing stronger rapidly. Crowe Altius had looked surprised, hells, Prompto himself was surprised as the first lines of the song spoke of failings and no one expects a King to admit their failings. King Regis was always one to surprise people, though, according to his dad and Clarus Amicitia. The strength of the promise in the song was certainly shocking. But what was truly shocking was the chorus that had joined in as Noctis moved about the stage. 

Shadows came forward, golden wreathed and singing and Prompto could swear that they were the previous rulers of Lucis, all one hundred and twelve of them, plus a good handful more. Ignis and Gladio weren’t sure, though both were certain that whatever that was, magic had been thick in the area and those shades were surely a manifestation of some kind. 

Prompto sighed as he stepped out of the elevator onto the royal floor. Everything was just speculation though at this point. They wouldn’t get any actual answers until either Noctis or His Majesty woke up. The doctors so far could only assume that the reason they hadn’t was because whatever they did had completely drained them of magic. Considering that Noctis and His Majesty were the most powerful magic users seen in the Lucis Caelum line in generations, that was saying something. Prompto had seen Noctis working through magic lessons with his father and the glaives and he knew that both Caelums were powerful on a level he’d only thought possible in video games. 

“So what did you do, Noct?”

“Prompto?”

Startled, he looked up, not realizing he’d walked into Noctis’ quarters already, running on automatic as he walked to Noctis’s room where the Prince still slept. Ignis sat at his bedside, going over some paperwork and no doubt keeping one eye on the monitors surrounding the Prince’s bed. He arched a delicate brow at the blonde in the doorway, question hanging in the air. Offering a smile and a bashful rub at the back of his neck, he moved forward.

“Just talking to myself, Iggy. How’s our sleeping beauty?”

Ignis sighed, glancing at the pale Prince, dark haired splayed on his pillow and face lax in sleep.  
“Much as he has been. Still asleep, vitals still stable. The doctor left half an hour ago reporting no real change and Gladio will be here shortly for his physical therapy. Any word from Cor or the Kingsglaive?”

Prompto shook his head, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking Noctis’s hand in his.

“Nothing to add to the initial reports yet. Dad says it’s too soon to tell and the Glaives are still moving to the edge of the continent checking every last inch.” 

“Any update on Glaive Altius?”

“Out. Just like Noct and His Majesty. Elixers and ethers don’t seem to really help her either so it’s possible she’s going through the same drain they are.”

Ignis sighed, setting the papers aside, elbows coming to rest on his knees as his fingers threaded together. He watched Noctis sleep for a moment or two, watched Prompto fiddle with Noct’s fingers.

“And he never said a word to you? At all?”

Prompto shook his head, lip between his teeth.

“No. He was singing more often but you know that’s not really a tell with him. He’d been obsessed with that movie since it came out.”

Ignis heaved another sigh, pulling his glasses off his nose to rub at his eyes.

“He does have it memorized. But what could he have been thinking? Truly, what… What was all that?”

Prompto debated a moment, watching his friend and catching Ignis sliding his glasses back on out of the corner of his eye. He had a theory. A theory based on how well he knew his friend and how much he’d let said friend ramble on about any subject that could hold his attention long enough. Noctis wasn’t like Prompto in that regard. Where the blonde could ramble on for hours about multiple subjects, Noctis usually remained quiet, his interests limited but deeply rooted. Noctis could go on for hours about one subject versus Prompto’s many and Prompto never minded letting his friend ramble at him.

Music was one thing. He had music lessons every week, mainly vocal as he couldn’t be assed to learn an instrument. His Majesty had never minded so long as Noctis had found a medium that he liked and that could hold his attention. By all accounts, Noctis was a good singer though his voice really shined when it was paired with a song he liked. If he didn’t like it he’d still learn it, still sing it, but he wouldn’t put the same effort in. The song choice in the music lessons was one thing that Noctis would ramble on about for hours. Sprawled on his back late at night, hands waving in the air, he’d dissect and examine each verse of a song trying to interpret the meaning behind the words. He’d never do it in literature class which drove the teachers insane but was an endless source of amusement for Prompto.

“Why would I waste my time on plain old written words? Songs have music with them, notes that combine with the words to make the meaning more clear.”

After The Greatest Showman had come out Noctis had watched the movie on repeat so many times that he had the entire thing memorized. And because of that memorization he’d spent hours taking apart each song and looking at the meanings in them and how they could be applied to current events. Ignis may think that Noctis never paid attention to his political briefings (honestly he didn’t most of the time) but when the mood struck, the lazy Prince could be quite insightful.

“You look like you’re thinkin’ pretty hard there, blondie,”

Gladio’s deep rumble startled him from his thoughts. He hadn’t even noticed the big man come in or shuffle him off to the side enough to move the blankets out of the way so he could start moving Noctis’s legs around.

“Hey, big guy,” he said with a grin.

Gladio tossed him a smile of his own, carefully rotating Noctis’s foot. The appendage looked so tiny in Gladio’s massive hands.

“I have a theory… about what happened.”

Gladio paused, glancing up at him again. Ignis looked up from his phone, no doubt updating the King’s Shield as to the Prince’s condition. Prompto licked his lips, squeezing Noct’s hand as he turned more fully towards them.

“So. You know how Noct dissects a song when he really likes it? Looks for the meaning in the lyrics and the note progressions? Even simple, plainly stated lyrics get torn apart to see if there’s anything they’re not saying. And any song can be applied to any situation, he’s really quick about that too.”

“He always summarizes my briefings with a song lyric, yes,”

“Right so…. So after The Greatest Showman came out, he learned every part to every song and played them on repeat. He’s nuts about that soundtrack and I can’t tell you how many times he’s repeated the same explanations to me at three in th-”

“What’s your theory, blondie?” Gladio broke in, redirecting the rambling.

“A Million Dreams is about the big dream that P.T. Barnum has for himself and, later, his family. It’s all bright and cheery and filled with amazing things. The song is a direct contrast to how things were at the start of the movie, when everything was kind of shit. So. Noct compared that to how things are now. With the Empire and the daemons and the war.”

Ignis’s brows were furrowed, phone put down for now as he listened. Gladio set Noct’s leg down and moved to the other, motioning him to continue.

“When Crowe sang Never Enough it… it sounded like she was asking for something. Like. Everything glittery and gold and pretty wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t…” Fuck how had Noct explained it?

“Promises would never be enough if there was nothing to back them up. That’s what he said once.”

“Glaive Altius did seem rather… pleading with her rendition…” Ignis tapped his chin thoughtfully, green gaze contemplating their Prince. 

“That last one was pretty obvious then. The King making a vow to fix shit.”

“Got it in one, big guy.”

“That doesn’t explain why the wall is gone though. If His Majesty was making a promise to fix things, which is rather appropo for the occasion I must say, why would they then remove the main defence the city had?”

Prompto could only shrug at that. Initial reports were all they had to go on for the reasoning behind that and perhaps further reports wouldn’t be enough to explain it all.

“They are good theories. Knowing Noctis as we do, they make sense as he is also rather fond of stringing songs together in threes. Particularly when trying to explain a scenario to his liking.” Ignis muttered that last part, expression gone contemplative.

“Well, maybe when the idiot wakes up he can say whether we’re right or wrong.” Gladio huffed, setting Noct’s leg back down.

“Scoot, Prom. Gotta shift him off his back for a little while.” 

He hummed a bit as he slid off the bed, moving to the foot and watching how carefully Gladio shifted Noctis onto his side, propping a long pillow along his back and another between his knees. Noctis was little more than a rag doll, limbs loose and sliding as they would. Not an uncommon sight when they stayed up too late and Ignis decided to lay them out on the couch properly rather than cart them to bed but that was usually accompanied by a sleepy snuffle and a face being buried deeper into a pillow. There wasn’t any snuffling this time and it tugged at something in Prompto’s chest to see his friend so unresponsive. 

Ignis must have caught the look on his face, rising from his chair and circling the bed and wrap an arm comfortingly around Prompto’s shoulders.

“He’ll be alright, Prompto. It may take some time but he’ll be alright.” Ignis’s voice was soft and Prompto briefly wondered if the words were meant for himself as well as Prompto.

At this point, Prompto thought they were.


	3. Waiting

Honestly? Clarus could write a book.

How to handle a Caelum for dummies!

It’d sell millions, he knew it, despite whatever Cor said otherwise. He’d have to collaborate with Weskham, of course, and share the royalties from it but he didn’t think the other man would mind. Between the two of them they could write a dozen at least. Hells, he could recruit Gladiolus and Ignis and write a subseries on Noctis! They could go back in history and pull examples showing these boneheaded ideas were genetic!

Astrals, they could write and write and write and try to explain but there was no real way to explain just how much Caelums hid from those closest to them.

Clarus sat back in his seat at the King’s desk in his private quarters, hand rubbing over his head and tired eyes sweeping over the piles of paperwork. He knew just how much of a workload Regis had. Running a kingdom was not at all an easy job and he knew how much certain political figures loved to ramble along without getting to the damn point. More than once he had caught Regis asleep at this very desk, head slumped forward on a fist, fingers loosely grasping some page or another. He knew it was a lot. But he hadn’t known just how much bullshit Regis reviewed on a constant basis. Now his subtle barbs in meetings made sense. Now the patented Kingly Brow made sense. Now he understood why and how Regis had mastered the art of telling someone to shut the fuck up without actually saying it.

You had to cut through the bullshit somehow or nothing would ever get done.

_“A Caelum will never stop teaching you things, son, so always make sure you pay attention. And expect them to surprise you in the most unconventional of ways.”_

His father’s words came back to echo in his ears.

He’d thought his father one for exaggeration at first and he really hadn’t been wrong. Many times his father would spin some tale or another and his mother would quietly whisper the correct version in his ear, much to his delight. Meeting Regis for the first time, meeting King Mors he’d thought his father’s words another exaggeration, just another story he told to make things seem slightly more fantastical than they were.

Outside the wall, outside of the King’s eyes and ears, Clarus had learned that his father wasn’t wrong. Little clues were there in the preceding years, little hints at just what was lurking beneath the polite smile and carefully hidden retorts of the Prince. Insomnia only had so many hiding places and as Regis got older, his father’s paranoia had grown. So much so that even his own son was under constant surveillance. But the Empire encroaching on their borders was enough motivation to send his son away “to prove himself”. Earn a reputation amongst his people, forge what kind of King he would be.

That road trip had shown him a lot of facets he hadn’t known about his Prince.

Sarcastic, dark humored, patiently angry. These things he knew. These things he had seen here and there while in service to the prince for so long but when released from the constant spying and worrying about stepping on an unseen landmine and incuring his father’s wrath or chilling disappointment? It was all there in spades. Clarus partially blamed Cid. Finally the Prince let loose and in response, so had Clarus and Weskham. The change had been so immediate that they hadn’t known what do to the first time Regis quipped back at them without the frilly veil to hide his meaning.

_“Well if ever Weskham loses one of his trusty daggers he can always remove the stick from his ass and start beating people with it.”_

That retort and the politician’s grin that had accompanied it had stunned them all for a solid five seconds. Weskham broke first and it took several minutes before the man could even attempt something remotely close to proper breathing. That was the first of many surprises on that trip. That was the first day they could be Regis and Clarus without having to hide how truly friendly they were to each other. And that was the first night they talked as people without having to worry about things getting back to sensitive ears.

Cor had been scandalized, startled and unsure of what the hell was going on. He was King Mors’s man but by the end of it all he was very firmly Regis’s friend and able to trade veiled barbs as well as the rest of them. Those were the bright spots he remembered, the trip ultimately a failure in the end.

The only other thing he remembered with perfect clarity was the day Regis had died.

_For a long minute he hadn’t realized that his Prince had died. He knew he’d gotten knocked down, that was common. Regis always thought he was lighter on his feet than he really was. He always got up quickly though, that was also common. Down and back up. So when he didn’t…. When he didn’t Clarus had turned and seen him lying in the dirt, staring at the sky. Yelling at him didn’t help, didn’t stir him. Shaking him didn’t help. Slapping him didn’t help. He just lie there, staring, clothes ripped and dirty and blood pooling around his head, soaking into the dirt. Memory brought Weskham’s shouts to his ears over the ringing explosions of grenades and gunfire. Metal groaned as Cor whipped through the MTs after them, cutting down what he could in all his reckless, teenage rage fueled brilliance. Cid was cursing up a storm somewhere as he fired from a distance._

_Instinct grabbed his heart and shoved him over his downed Prince to protect him. Dirt exploded by his head, spraying rocks over his shoulders. The sting was barely noticeable and forgotten, replaced by the hum of electricity and the press of fire to his chest. A blink and he was staring at a Regis he wasn’t sure he could call Regis._

_Another blink and he was on his feet, Clarus scrambling to catch up, calling his name._

_Another, Regis beside Weskham who had backed up to try and cover them, urge them to flee._

_Another and Cor was deposited beside them, wind starting to whip against their bodies and blow dust and smoke in their faces._

_Another, Regis several yards in front of them, between them and the MTs. Alone._

_His throat was raw from shouting, feet planted to the ground not of his own choice, but the earth curling around to keep him, keep them, in place. A barrier sprung up between them, glass thin and shimmering, little sparks running across it._

_The earth broke on the other side._

_Lightning flashed, the dry brush that hadn’t been trampled being set ablaze._

_A great chasm opened somewhere farther back, tumbling the MTs inside. Closer and closer and closer. Slamming shut with another screech of protesting rock. The airships above them, far back enough to drop their troops without risk of being shot down plummeted to the ground, the earth parting for them to be swallowed as well._

_Smoke blinded him, long enough that he only heard what happened and the ringing silence afterwards drew his head back up, squinting through the dying wind to try and see Regis._

_The barrier stood, crackling. Shuddered. Fell._

_Regis’s back was to them. The earth finally uncurled from their feet and Clarus was stumbling, racing forward, yanking Regis around to face him. Something shot up his arm but he ignored it for the look on Regis’s face. Dirty, bloodied, torn._

_Glowing. The bright blue long associated with the Caelums, a blue some called unnatural that no one else possessed, sparked and glowed and shifted._

_He called his name. Shook him. Grasped his shoulders, ignoring the thing crawling up his arms. Long fingers brushed his elbows, Regis’s head slowly turning to properly look at Clarus. Recognition. Relief. Elation. Fear._

_“She was right, Clarus. I am capable…. Of so many things….”_

_His eyes rolled back in his head, body suddenly limp._

Clarus shook his head, dispelling the memory. That had been another turning point for Regis. The once catty man had become almost hyper active, tripping over himself to try and explain to them what had happened. Example proved the better explanation. Weskham had been equal parts astounded and horrified. Curbing Regis was a difficult task, a task that cost them time they didn’t have but they managed to somewhat balance him before they were beaten back to Insomnia. At the very least they had managed to convince him to keep his shoes on in polite company. Remembering that display of power had him remembering the one a scant few weeks ago. The one he had no idea about. The one people were starting to call him mad for.

Clarus would defend his King against the naysayers but he was running out of things to say to placate them.

With a groan, he pulled himself from the chair and left the office, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What timing. I was just about to pry you from that thing he calls a chair.” Ventus called, startling the shit out of him. The chuckle was lost in the sound of his boots stomping across the floor.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Really? I thought Iris would have trained you out of those by now, given her time as a dare devil in training.”

Another groan, hand rubbing over his face as Ventus chuckled again, offering a steaming mug of coffee.

“We don’t speak of that.”

Ventus simply smirked, enjoying his pain as he took a sip from his own mug, giving the Shield a once over. He was tired, obviously, as all of them were. Tired, worried, confused, perhaps a bit angry. Years in service to the Crown, his friendship with Regis, should have perhaps dulled some of the surprise over the King’s antics but, as proven time and time again, Regis would always surprise them and be unable to explain it immediately.

“The Council still trying to pile up the paperwork?” He asks, noting the tic in the Shield’s brow at the mention of the vultures.

“Always. Demanding answers we don’t have, trying to stir up concerns about “the people” when they’re the ones stirring up rumors with speculation and nothing concrete,” Clarus snorted harshly, sipping from his cup.

“I won’t have answers for them until Regis or Noctis wake up and that could take who knows how long. Whatever they did…”

“Whatever they did was powerful enough that they couldn’t risk telling anyone.”

Both men stood there, staring at the walls, thinking. Clarus thought of the road trip again, Regis’s words whispering in his ear. When he managed to wake up two days later he’d been disoriented, rambling. They’d feared he’d gone mad but the more he stood upon the sun warmed stone of the haven, refusing to put on a pair of shoes despite Weskham’s concerns for burning his feet, he’d leveled out somewhat. Not enough to make a lot of sense but enough to realize that something drastic had changed in their Prince and it had surprised the shit out of him too.

_“It was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up, you see. She couldn’t come to me before, it’s too…. Close.”_

_“Reggie, you ain’t makin’ a whole hellovalotta sense. What. Happened?”_

_“It’s… very complicated, Cid. Very. I can’t…. Explain everything it’s all so jumbled. So very…. But this is good. I can… There are many things I can do and I just have to learn…. And teach him… But I can’t….”_

_Words wouldn’t come to him, not for several more days. They kept moving, trying to keep ahead of the Empire. That was surprisingly easy. That last battle had been meant to kill them, clearly, and the Empire hadn’t recovered just yet. They spent more nights camping, more time helping to try and clear some daemons out, listen to the people’s concerns. Regis was as charming as ever though he came across as rather eccentric. People were cautious around him. Weskham’s concerns were brushed aside._

_“Let them be cautious. I’m not even sure I have my head on completely straight. In fact I’m rather certain I don’t!”_

_He refused to wear shoes unless Weskham put them on his feet while someone else quickly distracted him. He was insistent that they blocked him but he couldn’t explain what they blocked him from. Clarus held off on reporting anything back to Insomnia, and a brief conversation with Cor had the young man doing the same. They chalked it up to Regis almost dying, the shock of it and he hadn’t recovered yet. It made sense. It was a jarring experience and after having to experience it themselves a few times over the course of the trip they were all a little off for a few days afterwards._

_Though two, almost three weeks, was excessive._

_They were sitting around the campfire. Cid was tinkering with something, keeping his fingers busy to try not to watch Regis slowly pace around the haven. Cor sat in one of the camp chairs, staring at the flames, left arm in a sling and bandages wound around his torso. His ears were probably still ringing from the verbal beat down they’d given him for going off to Taelpar Craig by himself. Weskham tended to the coffee, their nightly ritual now to calm nerves and get them settled for the night despite the caffeine. Clarus kept one eye on the group and one eye on Regis as he did his push ups, keeping track of the Prince’s steps as he walked. His shoes were off for the night, fingers plucking at his cuticles and gaze distant. He’d been quiet today, thoughtful. Clarus knew that look as it usually preceded some kind of explanation or potential idea._

_Regis paused, just on the edge of the haven, head tilted back towards the sky._

_“When I died, I met Lady Etro,”_

_Cid’s tinkering paused._

_“She told me a story that I find somewhat difficult to believe but as I’ve thought of things, they make sense. I can’t tell you all of it, can barely tell you any of it but... “_

_“You’ve been hinting at something for some time, Regis. And you’ve been acting strangely since that battle. What is going on?”_

_Weskham was patient, words calm, staying crouched by the fire as Clarus slowly pushed himself back up and onto his knees. Regis kept quiet for a handful of seconds, slowly turning to them and considering each one, looking for something in their faces._

_“I can’t tell you everything. Honestly, She forbade me from saying everything. I can when it’s the right time but until then I can only tell you a little.”_

_“A little is better than nothing,”_

_“Yes. Right as always, Weskham,”_

_He moved to one of the empty chairs, sitting down carefully, toes curling around a few pebbles._

_“The Caelums have always had magic, in varying amounts. We’ve also always been very clever with what we have. Some have more, some have less. Some are better and some are worse and the type always varies. The first was magic meant to heal, meant to save people because all it was was light and He used it that way. But then He fell and it darkened and splintered into what it is now. Force. Power. Healing is still possible but it is more difficult as He was the best with it and that light passed to the Oracles._

_We are clever though. Very clever. And we adapt. So we learned what the raw force could do and molded it into what we needed. The Astrals saw that we were learning and they helped. A little. Enough to focus it more but still let it grow. And grow. And grow. And then the 42nd King wasn’t as good with it. Then the 54th. 63rd. 72nd. 77th. 80th. Until what we could do before was so miniscule that records were lost and we forgot how clever we could be. Great great grandfather was the first in a long time with something more potent than the Crystal provided but Father… Father is weak. Father has an oasis inside of a desert and there is nothing to be done for it now._

_Etro though. Etro reminded me how clever we were and took my death as an opportunity to explain and help me find it. So that I could use it and not be used by it. So that I could teach my own how to use and not be used by it and we could end this. There’s a lot to learn and I am learning it, slowly. It will take time but I will learn. And I will tell you as I learn, I promise you that. But we can’t tell the King. This doesn’t come back with us. You will know because you’ve seen it, and I will tell you, but you won’t tell anyone.”_

_Clarus thinks even the crickets are silent. Regis’s hands are tangled together in between his knees, knuckles white. His eyes are pleading with them and Clarus wishes he could see instability in those too blue eyes but there is nothing but calm and confidence and promise._

_“You sound like a fuckin’ looney, Reggie,”_

_Cid’s words startle a bark of laughter from Regis and his hands are suddenly buried in his hair and yanking through the dark strands._

_“I know! I’ve rehearsed this in my head all day and I can’t avoid sounding like a lunatic and I am sorry. But I have no other way to explain it. I quite honestly cannot explain it any other way than I already have and I am asking you to trust me on this. Please. Please.”_

_They’re quiet, considering. Clarus catches the look on Weskham’s face. The other man is warring with himself, whether to stay by Regis and listen or to cut and run. Cor looks half asleep but they all know better. He’s thinking. Slowly and carefully, a rarity for him. Cid is the one scowling the darkest but he’s also one for wanting to know what he can so he isn’t blindsided later. Clarus isn’t sure himself either. Regis isn’t making sense, by his own admission, and his own instincts are fighting against what logic is telling him. His gut tells him to trust his Prince and soon to be King and his logic is telling him the man is mad and should be removed for the safety of Lucis._

_But his father also taught him the value of when to listen to each side and he decides to go with his gut._

_“Tell us what’s going on then. What you can.”_

_The tension bleeds out of Regis’s shoulders, the words quickly following. And Clarus believes him._

“Do you think he’ll finally be able to clear everything up, when he wakes?” Ventus asks, setting his empty cup on the coffee table in the sitting room.

Setting his own mug aside he sighs, elbows planting themselves on his knees and fingers digging into his forehead.

“Astrals I hope so. I really, truly hope so.”


	4. More Questions than Answers

She was lovely. Long dark hair, slender pianist hands, legs elegantly crossed, the fabric of her dress draping around her and cascading to the floor. Her eyes were sharp and cat shaped, lips curled into a little smirk, black painted nail tapping at a sharp cheekbone. She sat there, waiting, smirk curling a touch more. Her hand swept out to indicate the chair across from her.

 

“Please. Sit.” 

 

A beautiful voice, the S’s and T’s pronounced. 

 

“Do you know who I am?” 

 

They shook their head though there was an idea forming in the back of their mind. Her smile grew, amusement in her eyes.

 

“You’ve an idea at least. Don’t fret though, I’ve only borrowed you for a few moments. I wanted to thank you. You’ve lit the path and taken the first steps. Those are usually the hardest and thus I appreciate the effort. Though I must admit that it does get somewhat more difficult from here.”

 

“First steps…?”

 

Their voice echoed oddly in their ears, as though not quite their own. She was looking quite like a cat who got the cream and was eyeing the canary.

 

“Yes. I spoke to another pair before and hoped that they would figure something out and ask for assistance from those available. Though I suspect that they didn’t quite explain… anything.”

 

“What is happening?”

 

“I have a design, my dears. A design I am quite proud of. Things have progressed to the point that I can either light it aflame or request that my own help to correct it. Two have answered my request and you…. You I suspect will also acquiesce. If only to save those you care for.”

 

Shadows drifted behind her, images they could barely make out, sounds weaving together. It was on the edge of their awareness, slipping through their fingers.

 

“But what…?”

 

“You’ll find out. You’ll learn. And I will be grateful for your assistance in this matter. But I do ask one more favor.”

 

“Favor….?”

 

“Be patient with them. They are so very clever but so very forgetful.”

 

She was fading, her smile lingering as she leaned forward and took their hands. They were cold.

 

“I wish you seven blessings and all the luck you can carry.”

 

With a gasp she was awake, arching off the bed as her eyes flew open. Her hands snapped forward, grasping quickly at anything in reach. Everything was a blurred mess, sound muffled and sensation sharp and jarring. Voices called her name, hands grasped her. There was a shrill sound to her right that vaguely pierced the cotton and wormed its way into her head. Loud and muffled and sharp. Her lungs burned for air and for a moment she was afraid that she was burning. 

 

The cotton began to clear, the hands grasping her gentle but firm. The fire in her skin calmed gradually as she sucked more air into her lungs. Shadows hovered over her, calling a name. Her name, she realized. Falling back to the bed, gasping for breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and let out a single, harsh sob. Her teeth hurt from grinding them together. 

 

“--owe. Crowe, can you hear me?” 

 

She knew that voice, reached a hand out for it. Large, warm, calloused fingers curled around her own, another landing on her shoulder to anchor her. Her fingers strained, reaching as the other leaned closer. Braids, tightly woven to the side of his head. She dug her nails in, yanking him forward as her eyes snapped open again. Libertus looked down at her, worry obvious, relief on its heels. Air rushed into her lungs.

 

“W-where--?”

 

“In the Citadel. You’re in the medical ward and you have been for almost three weeks. Are you--?”

 

“The King. Where--? I need to see him!”

 

Her arms shook as she struggled to sit. Libertus quickly pushed her back down, easily halting her struggles. Someone lingered nearby, a second set of hands grasping her kicking legs and pinning them to the bed. Libertus was saying something, some meaningless thing about calm and rest and other nonsense. She didn’t need calm. She needed answers. Gasping, she tried to push him away, words tumbling from her mouth, trying to get him to understand but he refused. The cotton was coming back, filling her head and dragging her back into darkness. Libertus urged her to rest, his hands still bracing her shoulders as she faded. 

 

Coming back up was a smoother affair. Slow and steady as though from a good night’s rest rather than a panic fueled nightmare. She stared up at the ceiling above her, blinking slowly and letting everything filter in as it may. It was late, probably past midnight by how quiet it was. The ceiling was plain white and the antiseptic stung her nose. The sheets rubbed against her exposed skin and she wondered if her skin was just that sensitive or if the sheets were just that scratchy. She turned her head one way, then the other, spotting a lump slumped in a chair against the wall. Libertus’s snoring was muffled for once as he slept with his chin on his chest and his arms and ankles crossed. It wasn’t surprising to see the overprotective idiot hovering. 

 

_ ‘Suppose I should get used to that.’ _

 

Lying there was comfortable for a time. Thoughts drifted by, the panic from earlier didn’t rear its ugly head and she was able to potentially process the last bits that she remembered. 

 

Noctis singing.

 

The King singing.

 

Her joining in.

 

Magic unfamiliar but warm pulsing through her, sweeping her usual miniscule restraint away and forcing her own concerns to light. 

 

The King answering them.

 

Reassurance. Light. Hope.

 

Her. And her favor.

 

Noctis’s favor. That’s what had started this. He’d said that he’d wanted to do something surprising, something to ring in the new year with new hope and a promise to do better from the royal family. As the little princeling was almost like a brother to her, she had agreed, thinking it’d be something cheesy she could write off later as she ruffled his hair. When he’d started singing she was sure that would be it. But then something had pulsed in her chest and she felt words building up low in her throat. At one point, Noctis had spotted her, smiling, eyes alight with power. Not an unusual sight when he was singing. Not an unusual sight on the rare occasion that the King sang. 

 

She wondered if hers had glowed when she joined them. 

 

The voice was hers but not, her own magic rushing over skin in answer to the Prince. Another swirled under it though, light and warm and quick and twining around her own to join the Prince’s and the King’s and she’d sung. She remembered feeling like she’d been hijacked by this other magic and by the Royals’ and tried to hold it back. It didn’t work and she’d sung a song Noctis and perhaps the King recognized for what it was. She had wanted to laugh at the King’s answer, certain it was more pretty words meant to placate.

 

There was a faint sensation of a hand pressing reassuringly against her shoulder, someone just one the edge of her vision.

 

Gold shimmered behind her and there were ghosts in the air lending their voices and their magic to the great work before them. At that moment, magic swirling at her feet and shooting into the sky, brushing her skin and roiling through her veins, she knew that they weren’t just pretty words. She didn’t know why and she couldn’t ask whoever owned that other magic. Perhaps, when she got out, she could track down the King and the Prince and shake them both, demand answers to what happened.

 

That sounded like an excellent idea.

 

How could she get out of here?

 

The trick would be to not wake Libertus. He was a heavy sleeper most days, occasionally rousing at the slightest noise depending on where he was. She watched him a moment, counted how deep his breathing was, listening for the faint snores coming from his nose. He was out, firmly. Carefully, she reached over and shut off the machines around her, watching Libertus out of the corner of her eye. It wouldn’t help to get caught before she could get her answers. Once the monitors were off, she pulled off the leads, draping them over the machines. Her nails picked at the tape over the IV line, quickly sliding the needle out and pressing her hand against the puncture wound, dredging up what little magic she had to heal the wound.

 

It left her sitting there blinking for a few moments. Carefully gathering herself, she shifted to the side of the bed, clutching it as she put her weight on her feet. The floor was cold, pins and needles briefly shooting through her legs. Forcing it aside cost her time she didn’t have but she did it and took a careful step forward. Another and another and another until she was almost at the partially opened door. She tripped over nothing and bit back a curse, trying to catch herself.

 

Warm, slender hands caught her, hauling her carefully upright. Jerking her head up, she frowned. 

 

A blonde woman stood before her. Her white dress, a nightgown, swirled delicately around her ankles, hair bound in a loose braid. It… Crowe could swear she was partially see through. The woman lifted a finger to her lips, the universal sign for silence and tugged gently at her hands. Glancing at the still sleeping Libertus, she followed the pull, out of the room and down the hall. Away from the exit.

 

_ “There’s something else we have to do,”  _

 

Oh good. She’d been about to ask. 

 

Their journey was short, around the corner and down a few doors into another room. Another room with an occupied bed. A bed with her Captain in it. The hand around hers tightened, the woman turning to her.

 

_ “This is General Glauca. You know him as Captain Titus Drautos.”  _

 

A beat and she was sucking in a sharp breath, words hissing from between her teeth.

 

“What?”

 

_ “He is General Glauca and Captain Drautos. Noctis saw it and allowed me to see.” _ Hands reached for her, quickly grasping her face, thumbs pressing gently over her eyes.

 

_ “Now you’ll see it, too. Will you help me stop him?” _

 

The hands dropped and her eyes shot open. She wished she could close them, rub them to clear them of the double image. Drautos lay on the bed, monitors and leads attached as they were to her, but almost superimposed over him was a suit of twisted armor. Familiar armor. Armor anchored to Drautos by what seemed to be thin black chains. Shadows crept between the crevices and joints, slithering, hissing things of inky black. An idea of what they were flitted through her mind.

 

Those same warm, thin fingered hands pressed against her shoulders from behind, the woman curling her arms around her.

 

_ “Please. Will you help me?” _

 

“We should kill him.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

_ “You have an in with the royals, Hero, so what the hell happened?!” _

 

_ “Why’s Crowe layin’ there? What was she doin’? You have to know, Nyx! You have to tell me!” _

 

_ “Who are you protecting? What aren’t you telling us?” _

 

_ “We’re your brothers, Nyx! Tell us something!” _

 

He couldn’t tell them anything. Honestly, he really couldn’t. That night was as confusing for him as it was for everyone else. It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t awed by it, that he didn’t hope it meant something for the glaives and the refugees scraping by in the city that claimed to welcome them. The magic had been so thick in the air that it sparked across his skin and he’d felt the need to burst into song with the ghostly choir that sprang up around them no matter how confused and a little frightened he’d felt. Something had been building in the air for a while, he knew that and he could say that and he had but it didn’t explain anything. It didn’t tell the other glaives what the hell was going through the Prince’s head when he’d started singing and it didn’t tell them what had been going through Crowe’s when she’d joined in.

 

It was obvious that she wasn’t happy with it at the start, that she’d been reluctant and almost angry. Those that knew her could tell that the anger masked the fear and confusion no doubt boiling in her gut, dispersed with the third song and the King’s vocals. Knowing, however, didn’t help with the questions. Knowing didn’t keep Libertus from cursing the King and the Prince every chance he got for “hurting Crowe”. Crowe would have his head on a spike if she heard him say any of the things he’d been shouting and Nyx really wished that she’d wake up and do it. Partially because it would get Libertus to see sense and mostly because it would mean Crowe was awake enough to do it. 

 

It would also give them all some idea as to what was going on.

 

To hear Crowe sing wasn’t that surprising. Prince Noctis had started teaching her when he was still a kid whose voice cracked when he got too excited as a way to help hone her magic. As one of the best mages in the Kingsglaive, Crowe took to it once she saw the benefit and proceeded to teach the rest simple things to hum to focus them when practicing larger spells. Nyx and a few others had picked up the habit too, humming old songs from home on occasion to bring themselves back to clarity when they felt things spiraling out of control on the battlefield. 

 

That, however, was in the training halls. In the middle of a fight. Offhand when figuring out some other way to bend the King’s magic to do something else. Singing in front of the entire city with the royal family, with ghosts shimmering at her back and magic building high in the sky and shattering above them was not something that happened. Captain Drautos and a few council members dropping like stones because of a little magic wasn’t something that happened.

 

It set him on edge, set them all on edge. This had consequences they couldn’t plan for, couldn’t see. This meant that something was happening that they wouldn’t have time to brace for. It left them vulnerable and Nyx had been vulnerable too many times in his life.

 

Stepping off the elevator with a sigh, hand rubbing the back of his neck, he made his way to the infirmary. For the past few days he’d been unable to sleep, that same itching feeling under his skin from New Years cropping up and keeping him from getting any real sleep. It was rather distracting and left him looking at the shadows too long, seeing things that may or may not be there. Quietly, he pushed open the doors to the infirmary, nodding to the nurse at the desk. He’d been in often enough the past few days that she didn’t protest as he began to head back to Crowe’s room. 

 

His back teeth were starting to itch.

 

He slowed his steps, kept his arms at his sides, gaze drifting around the hall. Carefully, he glanced back at the nurse who continued with her paperwork, unfazed. Was he imagining this? Crowe’s room was three doors down on the right, the door partially open. Slowly, he moved closer, catching sight of Libertus’s bulk slumped in the chair just inside the door. The room wasn’t very large, another step forward letting him see the edge of the bed. The empty bed. Creeping closer confirmed it. Crowe was gone, the machines silent, Libertus still asleep. That feeling was still there, making his teeth itch as something crept just under his skin. 

 

A shadow shifted out of the corner of his eye. 

 

Keeping his steps light, he crept to the corner, not drawing a weapon just yet, fingers pressing into his thigh just in case. Someone went through an open door on the left just up ahead, too quick for him to really tell who it was, though he had a guess. Carefully, slowly, he moved forward, keeping low to the floor and on the balls of his feet. The door to the room was open, the light above the bed still on. Drautos lay on the bed, face pinched in sleep, as dead to the world as he had been the past few weeks. He looked on the edge of waking, as Crowe had for the last few days. As Crowe apparently was as she stood over him, watching him. 

 

Her hair partially hid her face so he couldn’t make out her expression. Judging by her stillness he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. She was still in the hospital scrubs, feet bare, hands loose at her sides. Just standing there, watching. His teeth continued to itch.

 

“We should kill him,” Crowe whispers, not turning to him just yet.

 

Nyx keeps hold of himself, slowly straightening and slipping into the room. 

 

“We can’t kill the Captain, Crowe, that’s treason,”

 

Her head twitched at his voice, hands twitching in that way they did when surprised.

 

“So is serving the empire,”

 

She turned to him then, only partially, enough to see her face through her fall of hair. The one eye he can see is half lidded, a fire burning in the whiskey brown depths. 

 

“Drautos serves the King, Crowe,”

 

“And the Empire.”

 

He takes a step closer, keeping an eye on her body language. Usually Crowe has some kind of tension in her shoulders or her legs. A still Crowe, a relaxed Crowe, can be a dangerous thing. He’s known her long enough to know what to look for.

 

“What do you mean, he serves the Empire?”

 

Crowe’s head tilts, letting him approach.

 

“General Glauca. That’s him. That’s why he fell when the wall broke.”

 

Nyx glanced down at the Captain, noting the deepening frown on his face. Faintly, he heard the machines starting to beat off rhythm.

 

“We don’t know why he dropped. He’s been asleep since then, like you were.”

 

“I can show you. If you want.” 

 

Ice creeps through him at that, hands coming up to wave the suggestion away. She already has a ball of light in one hand before he can say anything, hovering above her right hand, small and dim at first. Drautos shifts. 

 

“Crowe,”

 

“I’ll show you.”

 

The light flares, the spell one well used in the field to keep the daemons pinned when needed. Drautos grunts, jerking sharply on the bed, the little ball leaving Crowe’s palm to hover over him. Alarms sound from the machines, no doubt drawing attention. Nyx strides forward quickly, snatching Crowe up around the waist and hauling her back. The light stays, bright and inches above Drautos’s heaving chest. He’s sweating, teeth gritted, fingers digging into the sheets. Something twists beneath his skin, moving and shuddering, drawn upwards by the light. 

 

Nyx feels sick as he watches liquid silver flow from Drautos’s body, away from the bed into the corner of the room where the shadows are thickest. It writhes and churns over itself, the ball of light still hovering over a howling Drautos. The last of it drips off the bed, rushing towards the rest. It’s sickening to watch, pouring over itself as if a sentient thing in agony. As Drautos drops to the bed, silent and still, the silver solidifies, becoming a familiar towering suit of armor. It stands there, looming and twisted. Jerking forward, it tries to draw its sword, armor clanging in the confined space. The little ball flares again, splitting in two and taking on a different glow, shooting forward to slam into the breastplate. Metal screeches, ear splittingly loud in the small room. 

 

A khukri is in his hand and flying before he even realizes it, the blade slamming into the breastplate and sinking deep. The armor cracks. Above Drautos, the remaining ball sinks slowly down into the man’s chest. Another shriek of metal, another flare and Nyx is left blinded for several seconds. When he’s able to clear the spots from his vision he’s vaguely aware of shouting outside the door, catching a glimpse of a shimmering barrier beginning to crack. Crowe slumps against him, head rolling on his shoulder.The armor is gone, sparks fading where it once stood.

 

“Told you,” Crowe whispers, a faint smirk on her face.

 

Nyx is left standing there, utterly dumbfounded. The barrier breaks, doctors rushing in, Libertus and a few Crownsguard on their heels. He knows Libertus is asking questions, demanding to know what happened, trying to pry Crowe from his arms. His gaze travels from the corner, to Drautos swarmed by doctors, the shrieking machines still shouting warnings, Libertus’s angry, frightened face and finally down to an unconscious Crowe. 

 

“--yx! Nyx! Damnit, Nyx, what happened?!”

 

He lets out a little laugh, disbelieving and half to hysterical already.

 

“I have no fucking clue.”


	5. Council of Misfits

For the first time in years, Cor felt his temper rising to a hair below what he could control. His desk was littered with various reports from the Kingsglaive outside the city, from the hunters he was in contact with, the Crownsguard, and, easily the most infuriating of all, from Monica and Dustin. He’d set his two best to the task of looking into the activities of the council, specifically those that fell during the New Year’s celebration. They were diligent, quick and thorough no matter how damning whatever they dug up was. And they had dug up quite a bit in three weeks.

 

Councilor Gesso, a broad shouldered wall of a man with an even temper in council meetings and clear leanings towards a more militaristic structure, has been in talks with certain individuals about incorporating Imperial research structure into the development of the Lucian military. Genetic engineering being of keen interest as it would “give those of proper heritage a chance to defend their country”. He had made it no secret how much he despised the reliance on the Kingsglaive.

 

Councilor Aridian, tall, waifish looking woman who placed a heavy emphasis on tradition and decorum. Also a xenophobe greatly disgruntled about the refugees “tainting” Insomnia. One mildly good thing, when seen from the perspective of potential benefit and not the fact that she would shove those “beneath” her out of their homes, is that she did want to expand the infrastructure of Insomnia to the rest of the country. “Modernization” is what she called it.

 

Councilor Hesperius, a woman with a kind face and proud of her rather large family, had been making noises in agreement with Aridian. Specifically taking those that have “sought refuge” into the hands of education centers she would like to build. According to her they would be groomed for polite society and taught the ways of the world in addition to a top tier education. Brainwashing and cultural purging. Regis would be horrified. 

 

Councilor Naven. The final piece of the puzzle. Generally he kept to himself in meetings, letting the others bicker and gathering his own information to make his decisions. Cor had never liked him based on the way he was always watching Regis and the passive way he’d argue against Regis wanting to make any kind of reform. On occasion he’d play nice and agree with the King, the rest of the council falling in line. That there was a major clue who held the majority of power in the council chambers. According to Monica and Dustin’s research he was from a very distant branch of the royal line. Distant enough to still be included in the line of succession but distant enough that a lot of others would have to die first for him to claim the throne. And the throne was exactly what he wanted. He had the loyalty of the council, he had the loyalty of several other high ranking members of Insomnian society and he had made a promise to someone to return a ring to them. 

 

Cor could guess at the ring but the someone remained a mystery. He had thought it would be General Glauca who would give it to the Emperor but General Glauca, as he had come to find out only hours ago, was unconscious in their medical ward. Glaring down at the maps littered with dates and casualty numbers and comparing it to days when Drautos was “on leave” Cor put the pieces together rather quickly. Other dates didn’t match up but then he could have been passing along intel to the Empire on those. Several other pieces also slotted themselves into place. The unrest in the Kingsglaive caused by both the disdain from the council, the King’s sanity being questioned by his continued reliance on them and his perceived view of them only being tools, and no doubt Drautos trying to stir it up more to create a better opening for the Empire to make some kind of move. 

 

Taking an educated guess, Cor would have to say that the New Year’s Incident, as he had taken to calling it, was the King finding a way to ferret all of this out into the open and take out several key players at once. A wise move and one Cor couldn’t and wouldn’t blame him for not telling them about but ultimately reckless. If it had backfired there was a large possibility that the King and the Prince would be seen as mad and potentially deposed. Which would pave the way for discussions of succession and Naven to take the throne.

 

Heaving a sigh, Cor rubbed his forehead and flopped back in his office chair. He’d been staring at the papers for hours now, piecing everything together to tell Clarus and Ventus. Glancing at the clock he had an hour to get to them and brief them before they were stuck in another pointless council meeting. A knock on his door had him pause in getting up again.

 

“Enter,” 

 

Luck must be somewhat on his side. Clarus and Ventus both strode into the room, Ventus shutting the door behind them. Both men rose an eyebrow at the mess of his desk, Ventus simply sighing and taking a seat in one of the chairs. Clarus, eyes roving over the mass of papers, crossed his arms and snorted.

 

“Monica said you had some information we needed to know. I assume whatever this mess is, is it?”

 

Cor couldn’t help an eye roll, settling back and rubbing his hands over his face. It worried him sometimes when Monica was able to pull something like this. The woman had a sixth sense it seemed for knowing when he needed to talk to someone, timing it almost to the minute he made the realization himself.

 

“According to protocol, I had those that were incapacitated by His Majesty’s magic investigated as well as the entire Council and the general court. Including myself, the King’s Hand and the King’s Shield.” 

 

Cutting right to the point, Cor didn’t see the need for pleasantries.

 

“Most of the checks came back clear. Except for those that fell. I believe they fell because the King knew exactly what they were up to, what moves they were trying to make and why. And found the best way to incapacitate them so the information could be found to confirm or deny his suspicions.”

 

“What did you find exactly?” Ventus asked, eyeing his desk. 

 

Cor waved a hand at it, inviting them to see for themselves. Clarus reached for a stack on the corner, glancing over it briefly. Cor could see the moment it clicked in his head what he was reading, the muscle of Clarus’s jaw jumping as he slowed down. Ventus, much more careful in his initial skimming, flicked through a few papers, keeping his face exceptionally blank. Cor let them read, let them see what he’d seen and draw their own conclusions. Conclusions that were likely the same as his own but their own regardless.

 

“If this is correct,” Ventus murmured, bent over the desk now, quick eyes scanning every available page.

 

“If this is correct then the entire council is at risk of corruption.”

 

“I think the corruption has already well and truly happened,” Clarus growled. “I thought that the incident last night was a result of Glaive Altius going insane. Drautos has been commander of the Kingsglaive since its inception. He’s been loyal to the crown for years and now all this… and the security footage… He’s been Glauca almost as long as he’s been Drautos. And the King knew that.”

 

“And he couldn’t tell anyone without proof. The council has made it very clear that for them to support anything of His Majesty’s it must be backed with a hefty amount of proof or facts so ironclad not even their beady eyes can spot a flaw.” Ventus broke in, adjusting his glasses. 

 

“And now we know why they had that policy,” 

 

It churned something dark and ugly in Cor’s chest. There had been whispers since the Maralith attack that the King was potentially going the way of his father, that the madness of the Lucis Caelums was cropping up early. Certain policies the King wanted to enact were met with heavy skepticism or outright disdain, claims they’d never work, they’d never sit right with the people, they’d never benefit the people. But where the council had ample power to dissuade the King from certain things, he had just as much power to veto them. The constant push and pull had led to a stalemate that had been going for quite some time. And with the information strewn across Cor’s desk it was easy to see why. 

 

“How did Monica and Dustin get a hold of all this so quickly? If it was that easy, why wasn’t it done sooner?” Clarus ground out, looking over the map again.

 

“Because to look into a council member with no cause would incite outrage and accusations of distrust on His Majesty’s part. The council has already made it quite clear that they would rather His Majesty be a figurehead and leave the actual ruling of the kingdom to them.” Ventus answered, taking a small notepad from his pocket and beginning to jot down a few things.

 

“New Year’s gave us just cause to look into it as the councilors in question are still unconscious. Thus no one can argue and no one can block us without drawing suspicion to themselves. The Crownsguard at that point was just following protocol. Protocol set up by the council itself.” Cor chipped in.

 

“A protocol they thought would never backfire upon them.” Clarus finished, nodding to himself. 

 

“Can you have all of this arranged and copied? I want His Majesty to look over everything and I want something to present to the council.”

 

Cor smirked, his door opening with that same eerily perfect timing. Monica stepped into the room, handing Clarus a case of folders. She shared a smirk with Cor, snapped off a slute, turned on her heel and strode from the room again, door closing quietly behind her. Clarus couldn’t help a snort, Ventus managing a thin smirk.

 

“She is terrifying when she does that.”

 

“Quite.” Ventus glanced between the case and the desk, thinking quickly. 

 

“We’ll have to dismiss the council until His Majesty is recovered.” Clarus stated, setting the papers in his hand back on the desk. “Letting them shout at us isn’t allowing us to maintain order in the city and I don’t want to be fighting the council if the Empire is going to be breathing down our necks any second.”

 

“The Empire has been suspiciously silent since New Year’s. Dave Auburnbrie of the hunters and reports from the Kingsglaive have all been the same. The bases the Empire had managed to put in place, small as they were, are all empty of human personnel and magitech troops. The armors themselves were empty and there’s been no sign of Imperial movements within our borders since.” 

 

“I know and I don’t trust them being this quiet, Cor.”

 

“Neither do I.”

 

“There is a precedent for dismissing the council,” Ventus broke in.

 

Clarus and Cor paused, turning to the man. It was somewhat offputting how still he could be when he was thinking. 

 

“I wasn’t aware we needed a precedent.” Clarus said warily.

 

“To dismiss the council, especially if they are more corrupt than we fear, without the permission of the King or a member of the royal family, we need proof it has been done before for a similar reason and not just our own paranoia. We have the proof of our suspicion,” Ventus reached down at tapped the case, “But we need proof that another ruler has done the same.”

 

Clarus hummed in thought, nodding slowly. He didn’t like it, didn’t like that he knew without Ventus spelling it out that if they didn’t have an instance of a previous ruler dismissing the council then the information the Crownsguard had found would lose credibility. 

 

“Has a previous ruler done it before?” He asked, watching Ventus sit statue still and think.

 

“Yes,” he answered slowly, eyes narrowing as he thought back down the line. “Yes, the 103rd King was briefly incapacitated after the birth of his son. Poison in the celebratory wine. His Shield was also incapacitated for a time. The Queen’s uncle who sat on the council was found to have been the culprit, wanting to claim the title of regent until the boy was of age, grooming him to rule as he wanted. The Queen had the court investigated and thus dismissed. The Shield of the 94th King also had the council dismissed when it was believed they were attempting to have the royal children assassinated. The 88th and 80th also had their councils dismissed on suspicion of exploiting the people though the reasons there are unclear.” 

 

“So,” Cor started, “We have historical precedent and we have proof.”

 

Nodding sharply, Ventus stood, picking up the case.

 

“We do. And now we must act upon it.”

  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  


Ventus was proud to say that he was very, very good at his job. Delegating tasks and missives, determining what needed royal attention and what didn’t, directing aides to the proper council member, structuring the daily schedules. All of that he was very good at. So good that he even managed to schedule five minute increments to allow for people to be late or dawdle on a task. King Regis and his son were notorious for buggering off whenever the mood struck them so he had to learn how to adapt accordingly. Raising his nephew had also afforded him the ability to pass the trait on to him to allow for proper service to the young Prince. 

 

An event like New Years he had planned weeks in advance, down to the very last minute, allowances included. As such, it hadn’t been much of a surprise when the singing started. There was time between the speech planned for the King to welcome in the new year and the countdown towards said event. Ofcourse, while he had accounted for the whims of the royals, he hadn’t accounted for the whims to carry quite as far as they had. Truly, there was no salvaging the timing as the first song ended and the next began, only maintaining the crowd and hoping to all six Astrals that whatever this was would end quickly.

 

It had. But not to his satisfaction.

 

As such, while Ventus was very, very good at his job, he could only be very, very good when he wasn’t having to also juggle the outrageous demands of the council. That pack of vultures were slowly crawling across his very last nerve with constant requests for updates on the state of the Royal Family, the lands outside the city, the people in the city, any word from the Kingsglaive or Crownsguard, any updates from the doctors, what should be done about tabled policies awaiting the King’s decision and various other things that he had already answered. Several times. Per day. He was quite sure that if the trend kept up while the royals were indisposed that his nephew would have to pick up his duties while he sat in a cell on murder charges. Given the information they had just gotten from Cor not even an hour ago sitting in a case at the Marshall’s feet, that was becoming more and more likely the more the remaining councilors blathered on.

 

Scientia’s were known for being very efficient people and very level headed.

 

They were also known to slit a man’s throat with nary a warning or apology when pushed too far.

 

And at this point the squabbling Council was getting very, very close to that second fact.

 

He had been taking notes earlier in the meeting, somewhat absently as there weren’t a lot of points being made but now, as things descended into a cyclical argument, again, he set his pen aside and folded his hands on the table top. From the corner of his eye he could see Clarus’s temper fraying, the man’s mouth becoming a thin line and his eyes narrowing just a touch further. Shields were protective of their charges and being forced to be away from His Majesty was wearing on the man’s patience. Being forced to listen to the same things they had heard for days on end, with the new information sitting heavy in his mind frayed the thin cord of his patience further and faster than before. In opposition, Cor stood at perfect parade rest off to the side, face smooth as marble, the case sitting at his feet. 

 

As Councilor Dentus geared up to debate against some point they’d argued over before, Ventus glanced at Cor and gave the man a slow blink. A bare twitch of his head and he plucked the case from the floor, striding over to the table and letting it land on the polished surface with a pointed thud, interrupting Dentus’s tirade.. Normally Ventus would have scoffed at such theatrics but this time… this time it felt rather warranted. Those at the table not paying attention, all of them really, startled at the sound, glaring at the Marshall. The click of the case’s locks opening kept them silent. Wordlessly, Cor took the files from the case, moving around the table to set them pointedly in front of each councilor, glaring at Dentus until he slowly sat back down. 

 

“If you would,” Ventus started, calm as could be as Cor came to stand behind his left shoulder, arms folded behind his back. “Please read over the information Marshall Leonis has placed before you. This is a delicate matter so I implore you to read the information before you thoroughly before speaking. Once everyone has done so we may discuss it.”

 

Dentus sneared, pushing the folder away.

 

“We don’t have time for your grandstanding, Scientia. What is this?”

 

Ventus didn’t answer, hands folded on the table, back straight, shoulders back, gaze level on the man. A beat, two and Dentus scowled, yanking the folder back and flipping it open. The room was silent except for the rustling of papers. Ventus watched carefully, noting the confusion, then horror, then outrage spanning the remaining council’s faces. The speed the emotions flickered across their faces gave away which were more genuinely horrified by the implications and which were horrified about what it could mean for them. A glance out of the corner of his eye showed the thunderous look just at the edges of the Shield’s face. 

 

“What is all of this, Scientia? What is the meaning of this nonsense?!” Dentus demanded, barely even through the folder but already outraged. A point against him.

 

“Per protocol,” He started slowly, hands folded neatly on the table. “The Crownsguard began an investigation into the council members who collapsed during the New Year’s festivities. This investigation included the council in its entirety, the King’s Shield, the King’s Hand, and the royal court in general. The information before you is the result of that investigation.”

 

“When did this investigation start?” One of the others, a young woman by the name of Orsino, asked as she continued flipping through the pages.

 

“The first of the year, after His Majesty and His Highness and those affected by what occurred had been seen to.”

 

“This information is accurate?” 

 

“I believe--”

 

“It can’t be! It’s a blatant attempt to discredit those that have been loyal to the Crown for years! The King is as paranoid as his father and this proves that!”

 

Ventus’s nose wrinkled at Dentus’s interruption, the man once again on his feet, slamming a fist down in protest. Clarus’s expression darkened.

 

“Dentus, His Majesty has shown nothing but a level head since he took the throne. King Mors was always prone to suspicion due to the Empire being far more aggressive during his rule.”

 

Already they were straying from the point. Lips pressed thin and Clarus straightening to his full height beside him, Ventus rapped his knuckles twice on the table. Orsino’s mouth clicked shut, Dentus quieting with a scowl. Folding his hands again, Ventus offered a thin smile.

 

“A cyclical argument will not help matters and I am quite tired of them. As such, Clarus Amicitia, Cor Leonis and myself have come to the conclusion that the council is hereby dismissed until His Majesty or His Highness have recovered and reviewed the findings themselves.”

 

A beat, a splutter of outrage and the council was on its feet, various protests echoing in the room. Clarus huffed, allowed the cacophony for another beat and with a near audible snap of the thread of his patience, slammed his fist down on the table. 

 

“The council members implicated in the information given to you as well as the incident last night connecting Captain Drautos and General Glauca, and the precedents set by the 103rd, 94th, 88th and 80th Kings of Lucis give us the authority to dismiss the council in its entirety until His Majesty or His Highness rule otherwise. If you wish to argue, it will be after His Majesty or His Highness have recovered. Until then, this council is dismissed.”

 

“And what of Insomnia?! You can’t leave the city without a ruler!”

 

“The _Kingdom_ will fall under the limited rule of myself, Shield Amicitia, and Marshall Leonis. No new policies will be made, no existing policies will change and our focus will be on maintaining the stability of the Kingdom itself. Councilors, you are dismissed.” 

 

Ventus didn’t care if they heard the rest of his statement, merely gathered his things and strode from the room, Clarus and Cor striding abreast of him. The heavy doors of the chambers thudded shut, sealing away the outrage of the council. 

 

“I’m going to check on His Majesty,” Clarus said, already making for the elevator. Without a word, Ventus and Cor followed. 

 

“How long do you think it’ll be before some of them try and stir the public against us?” Cor asked as the doors shut, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

 

Ventus let out a humorless chuckle, keeping his arms folded behind his back. 

 

“Perhaps a day. They will need time to research and formulate their protests after all.” 

 

“Let them. They won’t get very far.” Clarus barely waited for the doors to slide open before he was walking out, robes flickering around his feet. The royal floor was quiet, their footsteps echoing on the marble and blending with the sound of a door hastily opening. A maid scurried down the hall, starting when she spotted them and hurrying a beat faster. Ventus could see the moment Clarus’s hackles went up, Cor already moving down the hall past the maid.

 

“Lord Amicitia! The King--!”

 

“What’s happened?”

 

The poor girl looked between terror and relief, wringing her hands in front of her.

 

“The King is awake!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ho ho. Someone's been up to something naughty
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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